Project: Reboot
by DuskMoon15
Summary: It's all a lie—the host family, the Exchange Program, even Miko Nakadai. She's been running from her past for the last six months, but thanks to the Autobots, it's about to catch up with her.
1. Chapter 1

**Jasper, Nevada, United States, Present Day**

To most people, it would appear as though Miko were simply drawing a bad caricature of a blue motorcycle that was parked not far from the front steps. But to a select few—none of which were in any position to observe her—it would be obvious what she was really doing.

Miko was collecting data.

While her hands absently sketched the motorcycle, her mind took careful note of every bolt and panel of its frame. She built a mental blueprint, labeling every detail she could see and making educated guesses on those she could not. She wanted to know the precise dimensions of its engine, its exact acceleration rate, how each piece worked together, and so on and so forth.

Above all, she wanted to know what it was doing at the high school.

Miko had been out on the front steps this morning. No motorcycle.

And during lunch she had glanced out the window several times. Still no motorcycle.

Now here she was sitting on the steps after school. Motorcycle.

Miko's eyes traveled over its frame for the umpteenth time, and she noticed that one of the rearview mirrors had shifted position. A thread of confusion ran through her mind. Had someone moved it while she was lost in thought?

"Hey, Nakadai!" called an especially irritating voice from behind her. Miko turned around to see Vince, a mean-spirited but not particularly bright bully, exit the school. "Whatcha starin' at that bike for?"

"'Whatcha' is not a word. You mean to say, 'What are you'. And it is staring, not starin'. Furthermore, it is a motorcycle, not a bike. But to answer your question, there were ninety-four vehicles in the student lot this morning. This motorcycle was not one of them." All of this was just a part of what she wanted to say, but Miko restrained herself.

_American youth can hardly speak English, let alone __properly.__ If you ever meet any, do not bother to correct them. They will not listen,_ Professor Maksim had told her one day. So far, this seemed to hold true. The Americans Miko had talked to, even the adults, spoke their own language so poorly it made her want to scream. She had learned early on that trying to correct them, no matter how politely it was done, just made them angry.

"It's a sweet bike," she said, internally cringing over the intentional misuse of the word 'sweet.'

_The motorcycle is not made of sugar or honey,_ Professor Maksim would scold, his eyebrows drawn together at having to chastise her.

But Professor Maksim was not here.

Vince, however, gave a noise of disapproval, not due to her word choice, but because he didn't like the motorcycle. "Whatever," he scoffed, moving past her towards his car. "See you later, loser."

"If you refuse to be sincere, do not say anything," Miko muttered once he pulled away. She turned her attention back to the motorcycle, ready to return to analyzing it.

To her surprise, it was gone.

Well, not entirely gone. It was suddenly by the curb next to a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes. And hesitating in front of the vehicles were two other students, only one of whom Miko recognized.

The younger boy, who appeared to be a few years too young for high school, said something to Jack before getting into the Camaro.

Jack lingered for a few more moments, but got onto the motorcycle.

He sped off down the road, but Miko quickly realized they couldn't have gone more than a block. The growl-esque purr of the engine had ceased less than a minute after it began. She sprang to her feet, making sure to snag her backpack, and ran in the direction he had disappeared.

When she arrived, she was careful not to immediately jump into plain sight. She pressed herself up against the wall, peering around the corner as inconspicuously as she could.

The motorcycle was gone, and in its place was a massive blue robot. Jack appeared to be in the middle of arguing with it. The robot snapped right back at him, then collected itself and asked him to go with it to a base of some sort.

Miko felt her core heat up in excitement. A robot. A giant blue robot that thought on its own. Not fifteen feet from her. Already there were thousands of questions swirling around in her mind, making her forget the mental blueprint she had built not long ago.

Who built it? Where was it from? What was its primary function? Were there any more like it? Why was it here, out in the open?

Miko simply had to know. She _needed_ the data. So she did the only logical thing.

"Dude, what are you waiting for? Go with!"

* * *

**Moscow, Russia, Three Years Ago**

In his crisp black shirt, brown slacks, and lab coat, the man was the image of professionalism. He tapped in the code for the door he stood in front of into the keypad, waiting as it slid open. There was girl wearing a set of white scrubs waiting for him in a plush recliner once he entered.

"Good morning, Reboot," said the man, taking a seat in a chair opposite the girl.

"Good morning, Doctor Andrei," Reboot replied. Her voice was too level, too mature for her appearance. "Do you have another spectrogram for me?"

Dr. Andrei shook his head with a laugh. "Not today," he said, and he penned a brief note to himself on the clipboard he had brought with him. "Today I am going to take you to see Professor Burdin. He will teach you English."

Reboot made a face. "What is wrong with Russian?" Her hands were busy with a three-dimensional puzzle as she spoke. She did not glance down at it.

"Nothing. Mr. Dombrowsky just wants you to learn English."

"He has no other motive, then?"

"No, little one, he does not." Dr. Andrei penned another note to himself, this one considerably longer than the last.

"My apologies, Doctor, but that is unlikely." Reboot finally looked at the puzzle in her lap, as if hoping that breaking eye contact would change Dr. Andrei's opinion of what she was about to say. "Mr. Dombrowsky speaks no English himself, and I cannot imagine a scenario—based on the data you have provided me with—where I would come into contact with an English-speaker. Therefore, it is unnecessary for me to learn the language." Upon finishing, she looked back up at the doctor. His lips were tight, his brow furrowed, and his chin lowered subtly. Reboot concluded from this that something she had said upset him, but she had no idea how to—or even if she could—take it back.

Silence grew heavy in the room. Dr. Andrei took his glasses off, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Some representatives from our American branch are coming here in a little less than a year," he explained wearily. "Mr. Dombrowsky thinks it vital that you be able to communicate with them, especially considering the origin of your predecessor."

Reboot's face took on an unnatural grimness. She twisted a piece of the puzzle into place a little too hard, and it broke off in her hand. She gave a startled exclamation, lifting her head to look at Dr. Andrei. "I broke the puzzle, Doctor," she said as she held out the two pieces, her voice suddenly losing all of its maturity.

"It's alright, Reboot, I'll get you another."

"Thank you." Reboot bowed her head again, staring at the broken puzzle. "And I understand. I will learn English."

Dr. Andrei nodded and penned another note. He stood, signaling for her to follow. They left the room, Reboot still grasping her puzzle and Dr. Andrei holding his clipboard under one arm.

As they headed down the hallways, they passed dozens of workers, each of whom took a moment to pause and call out, "Good morning, Reboot!"

One of the workers, who was wearing a tight black turtleneck and matching jeans, ran up behind Reboot and picked her up, spinning her in a circle. "I've missed you, little one!" he exclaimed.

"You were only gone for four days, Luka." Reboot dusted off her clothes once she was set back down. "How was your leave?"

"Bah, nothing like my tour days, but it was better than I thought it would be." Luka patted her head and nodded a greeting to Dr. Andrei. The group resumed walking. "I will tell you all about it later. I hear you're having your first English lesson today."

"Yes, with Professor Maksim Burdin."

"He's a good man; you'll like him," said Luka. He fell in behind Dr. Andrei, calmly offering to take the clipboard from him. He was handed both it and the pen.

They came upon a door marked with the Linguistics expert's name. Luka reached past the older man and opened it.

Inside was a middle-aged man with thinning, pale hair, his white shirt and beige slacks slightly rumpled. He looked up from the thick book he was reading, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. "Good morning, all," he said. "Now, Reboot, are you ready?"

The girl nodded stiffly and put the broken pieces of her puzzle on a nearby table. "I am," she replied.

Dr. Maksim scribbled down a few sentences on a clipboard of his own as he nodded in reply. "Dr. Trupp, Mr. Konstantinov, you may go. I'll have Mr. Melnikoff bring her back to R and D after the lesson."

* * *

**AN: To make things a little clearer on the part of the workers I've introduced, here's a key of those you've met so far.**

**Dr. Andrei Trupp**

**Luka Konstantinov**

**Prof. Maksim Burdin**

**Pavel Melnikoff**


	2. Chapter 2

**Jasper, Nevada, United States, Present Day**

Miko could barely contain her excitement. She had so many questions that she didn't even know where to begin. For now, though, she contented herself with clinging to Jack as the robot-turned-motorcycle drove them across the desert.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. Mischa must have gotten his commission, after all! The robot's bipedal form vaguely reminded her of his handiwork, but there was something off about it. Almost immediately, her smile faded. Mischa didn't work for THI anymore. _Even if he got the commission, what would his robot be doing _here,_ of all places?_ Even as the words passed through her mind, she knew the answer. "Idiotic Americans," she mumbled out of habit; her voice was thankfully too soft for Jack to hear.

Caught up in her thoughts, she hardly noticed that they had literally entered the mesa, and so she found herself gaping at the towering ceilings and the other robots for a long moment before finally getting off the motorcycle.

There was a red and white robot with a displeased expression over near a massive console. Assuming that this one could change shape like the blue robot, it would probably become some sort of emergency vehicle. At least, that's what Miko could gather from her split-second analysis of its frame. Nearby was a massive, rotund green robot who peered curiously down at them. She grinned up at him, taking careful note of the headlights placed on either side of its chest.

"I thought there were two," said the red and white robot.

"Haven't you heard? Humans multiply," retorted the blue one wryly.

"I'm Raf." The young boy extended his hand to the red and white robot, quickly pulling it back as though embarrassed to have done so. He ducked his head shyly.

She darted forward, heading for the rotund green robot in hopes he would be more open to questions than the red and white one. "I'm Miko! Who are you?"

"Uhh…" The robot recoiled slightly, unsure of what to do. "Bulkhead."

"Are you a car? I bet you're a truck. A monster truck!" Miko was so excited to finally have time to ask one of the robots everything on her mind that she forgot to use proper grammar. She moved her arms emphatically as she spoke and took a step towards the robot—he, she decided, based on his voice—who merely blinked at her in confusion. "Do you like heavy metal?" she queried, remembering that, based on her appearance, they wouldn't expect her to be fond of the classical music she loved to listen to. "How much do you weigh? Ever use a wrecking ball for a punching bag?"

"So if you guys are robots, who made you?" Raf asked, cutting her off.

Although Miko gave a petulant little huff, she acknowledged that the boy was asking perhaps the most important question. She crossed her arms and backed away from Bulkhead.

"Ugh!" scoffed the red and white robot, rolling his eyes—optics? "Puh-_leez."_

Everyone turned at the sound of massive footsteps approaching from behind them. Miko looked up to see another robot—this one approximately twice the size of the one that turned into a motorcycle—standing over them. "We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cyberton, also known as Autobots." His voice was deep and rumbling, commanding, in a way. This one was definitely in charge.

Jack began to approach the titanic Autobot. "Why are you here?"

"To protect your planet from the Decepticons."

"The jokers who tried to bump us off the road last night?" the blue robot interjected.

"Okay." Jack dragged the syllables out, his inflection rising radically with his confusion. "Why are they here?"

The titanic robot kneeled down so that he was almost on eye level with the teen. Miko and Raf quietly crept forward as if unable to hear the robot from such a small distance away. "A fair question, Jack. In part, they are here because our planet is uninhabitable, ravaged by centuries of civil war."

"Why were you fighting a war?" Raf's voice was still small, almost as though he were afraid.

"Foremost, over control of our world's supply of energon, the fuel and lifeblood of all Autobots and Decepticons alike." The Autobot's optics widened as memories resurfaced, and Miko could only watch in fascination at the tiny, complex movements of every panel and joint on his frame. "The combat was fierce and endured for centuries. In the beginning, I fought alongside one whom I considered a brother." So, these Autobots were capable of forming familial connections, Miko noted, ensuring that she archived that piece of data correctly. "But in war, ideals can be corrupted, and it was thus that Megatron lost his way."

Sighing, Miko interrupted with what she hoped was enough boredom while she twirled the end of her ponytail in her fingers, "Is there gonna be a quiz?" Truly, she hoped there would be. These Autobots' history was fascinating. She would have to press Bulkhead for more details later.

"So what does Megatron—or any of this—have to do with us?" Jack asked.

"Megatron has not been seen nor heard from in some time, but if his return is imminent, as I fear, it could be catastrophic."

Stifling a shudder, Miko wrapped her arms around her middle. Flames flashed through her field of vision, screaming echoed in her ears.

Never again.

* * *

**Moscow, Russia, Three Years Ago**

"First position," Luka instructed, walking in slow circles around Reboot as she spread her feet and moved her arms so that her hands were level with her hips. The girl had traded her pale blue clinical scrubs for a simple black leotard, stockings, and dark ballet shoes. "Good. Chin up." He used two fingers to lift her chin and smiled. "Now, second position."

Reboot complied, holding her arms out and placing her feet shoulder width apart. "What did you do on leave?" she inquired, her voice smooth and eerily soft.

"I will show you when you've finished your warmups. Third position."

She placed the heel of her right foot in front of her left, let one arm remain extended, and raised the other above her head. "Sing for me, Luka?"

The blonde man laughed, throwing his head back. "Alright, little one," he conceded. He took a brief bow and placed one finger on Reboot's head as he continued to walk around her. _"Even whispers aren't heard in the garden, everything has died down till morning."_ He moved his hand, the corners of his mouth turned upwards. His melodic voice echoed about the room, the nearby walls providing a pleasant echo that merely enhanced his sound. _"If you only knew how dear to me are these Moscow nights. The river moves, unmoving, all in silver moonlight."_

He gingerly stretched one leg out, tapping the toe of his ballet shoe against the floor. He spun in a small circle, his shoe dragging lightly against the tile with a small scratching noise. _"A song is heard, yet unheard, in these silent nights."_ It was amazing how level his voice stayed as he lifted his arms above his head and began to ease into a more complicated movement.

Watching Luka dance, Reboot realized, was like watching an artist paint. To fully appreciate it, you had to look for the minute details—every twitch of his muscles, every time he closed his eyes. The young man knew exactly how to capture his audience's attention with the smallest movement of his lean body, how to entrance even the most stubborn of humans with the stories he told.

"_Why do you, dear, look askance, with your head lowered so? It is hard to express, and hard to hold back, everything that my heart holds,"_ he sang, rushing forward to pick up Reboot and spin her around. She obligingly stayed quiet, but the child in her wanted to squeal for joy at the attention. _"But the dawn's becoming ever brighter. So please, just be good. Don't you, too, forget these summer, Moscow nights."_

Finally, Luka set her down and backed away, panting. His brown eyes were bright, a smile stretching his lips. He gave another little bow when Reboot began clapping. "Do you like my singing?"

"You have a beautiful voice!"

He retreated to the wall and slumped against it. "No more practice for today," he announced. A moment passed before he waved the girl over to him and patted the spot next to him on the floor.

She sat by his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Luka, I want to see a Moscow night. There are no windows in the compound."

"You know why you can't, Reboot," he murmured, stroking her hair.

"Just a few minutes. I swear, I'll never ask again."

"I'm sorry, little one." Luka pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I can't let you out."


End file.
